‘So, Syd… you’re here because you have a deliverance issue related to your SAS ministry?’
‘Blimey.’ Syd stretched his arms over his head. ‘Is that the time?’
There wasn’t a clock in here and probably insufficient light to see his watch. Syd was on his feet.
‘Samuel Dennis Spicer.’ He yawned. ‘Church of England. As was. Goodnight, all.’
10
The logs had reddened and collapsed into glowing splinters, the air outside fallen to near-stillness. Merrily stood up and went to the window. Across the valley, clouds had cleared and the hills were moon-bleached, but you couldn’t see the tip of Pen-y-fan the way you could from the chapel.
‘Of course,’ Huw said from the sunken chamber of his chair. ‘You’re a woman.’
‘We all have our cross to bear.’
‘They don’t have women in the SAS.’
‘You’re saying that’s why he won’t talk to me?’
‘He’s back in the army, his ministry’s governed by the buttoned-up bastards in the MoD. Not that he said much to me, either.’
‘An evil. What do you think that might be? As I recall, that’s not one of his words. He doesn’t do melodrama. But, yeah, I can see why you might think he’s scared. He’s a bit manic, isn’t he?’
‘You’re hardly going to see him trembling or keep running to the bog.’ Huw sat up, reached down to the hearth for the pot and poured more tea. ‘But, aye, that fact that he’ll say nowt to you more or less confirms it. It is Regiment-related. So very much on your patch.’
‘Although it has moved since Syd was a soldier.’
In Syd’s time, the Regiment had still been based on the southern edge of the city where it had been established during World War Two by an army colonel, David Stirling. The camp known ever since as Stirling Lines. Still producing highly trained commando units, parachuting in to operate behind enemy lines. That famous motto: Who Dares Wins.
Strangely, in the city, it had been more anonymous. The townsfolk part of a conspiracy of silence. But now it had moved a few miles out, to the former RAF base at Credenhill. Now everybody knew where to find the SAS: out in the sticks, with a high fence and armed guards.
Merrily came away from the window.
‘Topographically they’re in the county and in the diocese. But not part of either. The SAS are a little island of their own.’
‘So if Spicer has a problem involving a spiritual evil he has to deal with it himself. Doesn’t that bother you?’
‘In what way?’
‘He does one day on a deliverance course and thinks he knows enough to wing it on his own?’
‘Mmm. See what you-’
Merrily’s mobile was chiming in her bag. The kid had always chosen her moments.
‘Where are you?’
‘In the pub.’
‘I’m assuming not on your-’
‘With Lol. And Danny Thomas.’
‘Good. Listen, flower, I’ve got a bit of a problem.’
Telling Jane why she’d be spending the night at Huw’s rectory.
‘Jesus,’ Jane said. ‘Gormenghast?’
‘So when you get in, maybe you could ring and assure me that all the doors are locked, things like that. Or you could even stay in Lol’s spare room…’
‘And become the subject of evil gossip? I’ll be… fine.’
Hesitation?
‘You sure?’
‘Wind’s dying down. A few slates gone in the village, that’s all. You want me to take a walk round the vic-?’
‘No! If there’s nothing obvious from inside, just-’
‘You want me to hang on in the morning, till you get back?’
‘No, get the bus. I’ll call you anyway, about eight.’
‘OK.’
‘And get Lol to see you home and check-’
‘That there’s nobody around. Yes. I will. I’ll do that.’
Now that was wrong. Normally it would be, Don’t be ridiculous, this is Ledwardine.
‘Owt up, lass?’
‘Don’t know.’ Merrily dropped the phone into her bag; maybe she was overtired. ‘You think when they’re officially adult, it’s going to be easier. That they’ll be more restrained. But the only real difference is that now they can do things. Shake foundations.’
She told Huw about the Ledwardine henge issue – indications of a Bronze Age earthwork around the village, concealed for centuries by apple orchards. It was clear that elements inside Hereford Council would prefer that nothing was found on land they hoped to develop, thus turning Ledwardine into something approaching a town. Jane – obsessed with ancient sites, planning a career in archaeology – was furious. And Jane was eighteen. Jane could vote and express opinions.
‘She’s also enraged about a very rich man called Ward Savitch inviting other rich people to kill our wildlife. And she feels… I don’t know. She was a bit screwed-up when we arrived – fifteen, dad dead, mother adopting a deeply uncool career. And yet she’s been happier in Ledwardine than anywhere, and now she can see it coming apart. The village is a divided place now. Not a happy place. ’
‘And you’ve to keep walking the fence.’ Huw fell silent, gazing into the embers from the depths of his chair. Then he got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and make some more tea.’
When he returned with the teapot it was after midnight and Jane had rung back to say all was well: doors barred, cat fed, no signs of storm-damage at the vicarage.
Still detectable traces of let’s not worry Mum unnecessarily. But short of listing every conceivable mishap and pedantically putting them to her, one by one, there wasn’t a thing you could do about it.
The tea was strong, as if Huw was determined neither of them would get much sleep tonight.
‘You read the new guidelines?’
‘Mmm.’
A circular last week, underlining the need for full insurance. Be sure your clerical policy covered deliverance and all the possible repercussions.
‘It’s a farce, Merrily. Rules and procedures and targets. Like the NHS. Health and Safety. It can’t work like that. I’ve been thinking… might be time for me to pack this in. The courses.’
‘You’ve said that before.’
She moved to the chair vacated by Syd, up against the dregs of the fire. Lighting a cigarette and leaning back into a padded wing so that most of her face was out of Huw’s line of sight. You tended to think it was only the intensity of his work that had kept him going after Julia’s death.
‘What would you do?’
‘Happen retire. Write me memoirs.’
‘That would explode a few comfort zones.’
Huw leaned back with his hands behind his head.
‘I’m starting to think we could be close to fucked this time, Merrily. I go into Brecon – even Brecon, and I can feel it. Apathy, scorn… even fear. Of what we might be underneath. Used to be the worst we were was irrelevant,
